Saturday, July 19, 2008

By Guy Kawasaki's Swimming Pool I Sat Down And Wept

Dear Internets: my name is Catherine Connors and I am a writer. I am also a mother.

Maybe it's the other way around: mother, writer. This weekend, I'm not sure. This weekend, I am trying to be both, and more: mother, writer, friend, acquaintance, business woman, community advocate, self-promoter, thinker, drinker, writer-mother, mother-writer, woman, self. I am trying to be all things, and I am struggling.

I've struggled before. I struggle everyday. Everyday I wake up and immediately put tit to the mouth of a tiny human being whose survival, whose well-being, whose flourishing depends entirely upon me, and I throw my arms around a slightly larger human being whose heart is my own, and as I nurse and hug and love I gaze at my laptop and wonder when the moment will come that I will open it and record this love, this work, this love and craft it into words. And my heart strains in those moments because I know that I cannot have both immediately at once, my motherhood and my writerhood, just as I know in those moments when I share love with my husband or sisterhood with my friends or writerly solidarity with my peers (who are also, so many of them, my friends) that I am doing so as my self but not practicing my whole self - I am not being a mother in those moments, or a writer, or what-have-you - and that's fine, that's totally fine and that's good because that's life, even if it sometimes feels hard because you so often want to be or feel you need to be all your selves at once. You can't be everything at once.

But ordinarily, the moments that I struggle with wanting to be all or some my selves at once are private ones. This weekend, they are public - they are public because they are exposed, because I am exposed, because I am wearing my heart on my sleeve, because I am carrying my heart around in a red-and-white polka dot sling and sometimes he cries and sometimes he shits and always I want, I need, to protect him, and that want, that need, that him makes me vulnerable because it puts my fears, my love, my anxiety, my hope all on full display and demands that I deal with those here, now, NOW, while I am surrounded by people, my people, my peers and role models and friends and sisters, while I am trying to be so many parts of myself all at once, and that. leaves. me. raw. It leaves me feeling exposed, it leaves me feeling vulnerable to every flutter of emotion that moves through the room - the triumphs of others, the hurts of others, the vulnerabilities of others, the love of others - because I am carrying all those things of my own, in my arms, and I am doing so in a three-day long moment that demands many other things of me - things that I want to give, want to share - and so I am tired, vulnerable.

And so the other night, I sat down by Guy Kawasaki's swimming pool, heart in my arms, and I wept, and as the crowd - my peers, my idols, my friends - buzzed around me I tried to close in on myself and shield myself - my mother self, my weepy self, my stressed-and-scared self - from exposure so that I could keep these selves detached, keep these selves from muddying the water of my other selves - my writer-self, my friend-self, my woman-selves, the selves with hopes and ambitions that have nothing or very little to do with the little heart cradled in my arms, head damp with my tears. Those selves, my public selves, the selves through I distill and present my messier selves in my craft as a writer/blogger, those selves fell away and I was left with all the messiness - no words, no screen to hide behind - and I cried. As my heart squirmed in my arms and my soul ached in my gut, I cried.

I have cried, again, many times since then, in moments of inspiration and love (so many of these, here) and anxiety (can I cope, here? should I even be here? am I brave to be here, or am I stupid?) and fear (oh the fear). I will cry many times more. I will be the girl - the woman, the writer, the mother - in the corner, crying, yearning to be seen, and yearning to be invisible. Yearning to feel comfortable in my wholeness, in my love and hope and ambition and fear and tears and baby-shits and all.

sending you a big hug catherine.sometimes tears are needed.and its such a great way to release stress.and we all have so many selves that its hard to fulfill all of those dreams and feelings and needs without the occasional emotional outburst of tears.and you are still getting post baby hormones to settle back down.

Sometimes, the only thing...the cleansing, comforting thing to do is cry.

So poignant and beautiful, with such emotion and often times pain, but then coupled with joy and elation are the blessings and curses of being a woman and a mother. Never had I read anyone articulate all of those things as eloquently as you just did.

i love you in an incredibly powerful (yet hopefully non-creepy) way. always have, ever since i read "elegy." probably always will. even if you said something mean about me on the internets. even then i'd love you.

Catherine, I feel like I've been one of THOSE people that I hated most during my postpartum time. ALl like, "OHHH, AHHH It's all so WONDERFUL" And you know that I know that it's not. I know it's hard. And we're all here for you in a real way.

hi catherine,i saw you at guy's party struggling with jasper and i was close to offering to help but then how can i help? i don't know.. just know i saw you, felt you, and was/am rooting for you. bringing a bebe to this setting isn't easy.

I'm not there to see you in person but I *felt* you in this post —in a way that I haven't before. Thank you for the courage to share your vulnerability both in your words and your actions. THAT (to me) is the essence of being all the woman you are; it's not about the roles you perform or the hats you wear ina given moment. It is the courage to be exactly as you are in any given moment.

Do you realize in just trying to express you, you have expressed how almost every mother in the world has felt at some point. Too good, too much, too overwhelming...not that you'd change it, but it's a lot to take in and give back out again.

It's part of the fragmentary composition of our lives; these things you describe. They can be all aligned, not perfectly - true - but close enough, for a given point of time and then they drop to the ground like marbles and scatter all to sundry. It happens to me, often.

I'm sorry you feel like this :( I can only hope - and I'm sure its so - that you've been buttressed by some great people this weekend.

I battle this daily. I tell myself that I CAN do it all, that I can STILL be whatever it is I dream of being...just not NOW. Not all at once.We have such a strong need to define who we are: writer, baker, musician, whatever...and yes, mother. Always mother. And sometimes I cry over the guilt that I feel: the guilt that stems from me feeling like being "just a mother" is not good enough. I grow impatient, and scream, "Why not? Why can't I do it all at once???"

I cry daily. Seriously. Sometimes, I have no idea why I am crying. But the tears just flow. But it is all good, really, isn't it? Tears make us real. And honest. And thank the Lord up above for you, your babies, your writing, and your honesty.

You are a writer, and no doubt, motherhood has made you an even better writer. The two go hand in hand.

You will find your "groove" again... I promise. Give it time, my friend-- these are early days, yet!

I can't tell you how impressed I am that you made that long trip with your wee boy. You are stronger and braver than you realize, and even if there were some "wobbly" moments, know that you achieved something wonderful this weekend.

Wish I had been there, too-- I'd have loved to have met you, and been able to lend a hand.

Powerful post...thank you for sharing...these could of been my words and if we are all honest, most of us have felt these things at some point in our lives. Crying is good for the soul...I hope you can just "be" in this moment, breath through it and let go of anything you need to just let go of and embrace whatever is yours right now.

Oh Catherine! Once again your words have a power exceeded only by the depth and pain of your feelings. And it just kills me to have walked past you blithely telling you how great you look: not-fat post-partum body, not-too-tired looking face and beautiful, warm, delicious baby boy - and not seen what was going on underneath. Those feelings, so familiar, so wrenching, have haunted us all - our limitless love crashing into those other selves and sending sparks and lightning up into the stratosphere.Thank you, as always, for reminding us who we really are. And I'm so - personally - so sorry not to have just come up to you and given you - and Jasper - a hug. I send dozens, right now. And deep, abiding regard and thanks.

Your writing is beautiful, as are you and Jasper. I'm glad we got to see each other yesterday, if only briefly before I hustled home to nurse my baby (breast pump catastrophe). I was sorry to miss bloggy events, but holding him, snuggled up in the dim light - heart in my arms indeed.

I'll tell you one thing - I know I won't have it in me to go anywhere far or busy with a babe so young, so I am impressed at the part of you that is that adventuresome. Brave or stupid? Are they always different? Does it have to be named anyhow, or can you just be someone who wants to keep striving and keep being? I spent this weekend glad mine was still in utero so I could enjoy the company of friends without the distractions. Next year? Who knows.

I swear had I been there I would have hugged you both and sat with you while you cried. I would have given you a shoulder to cry on or just a friend to keep the masses at bay long enough for you to breathe. I can only tell you that I struggle daily with these feelings too and my boys are almost 16 months old. I promise it'll get better. Or at least easier to be a few things at once instead of all things at once. You are only one person, no matter how many roles you play.

This really spoke to me. Thank you for sharing so much. I am a new mother to a seven month old boy who makes my heart grow larger each day. I cannot go to bed in the next room without missing him but I also yearn for a few moments to feel like a child-less self, me. It's a balance that leaves me dumbfounded sometimes. The tears? They flow often. It is a lot to bear.

Aww, Catherine. I witnessed your tears and asked you if you were O (duh) and felt so awkward and helpless. A day later I was awed by your succinct, intelligent questions in a panel, and was relieved you were OK. Will be OK.

I've become more aware of the great deal of information that's been cropping up about this mother-writer conundrum, and about how "neither the twain shall meet". I never realized it had become such a big deal these days. I noticed it only started gaining ground when mom-blogging became popular.

You are so brave to even try to be all the "selves". Most people never even try and then live a life full of regrets. It is hard to feel like we are having to choose between ourselves. We feel torn and in a loose-loose situation. Congratulations on choosing to try and figure out how to make it work. It might be hard today but some day you will give courage to that little bundle in your arms as you share this experience with them. You will be able to say that it was hard but you tried and you were successful. They will find strength and courage from having you as their mother. Congratulations!

Sadly, we can not always be all things to all people. You do more than most people ever do. You try. And even though you may feel like a personal failure at times (we all do) because you are not able to keep all those balls in the air at once, it is okay. You are a writer when you need to be one. A friend when you need to be one. A drinker when you need to be one. (is there ever a time not to be one?) And so on.... I have never posted a comment on here before. Truthfully, I never felt like I had anything to connect to you with. I've liked a lot of things that you've written, but never felt that emotional component that might make me comment on someone's blog. But this is something that I go through all the time. You rock as a writer. I am sure you rock as a mother. And it seems to me that you rock as a person too.

And, "The Three Questions" based on a story by Leo Tolstoy, Written and Illustrated by Jon J Muth.

You cannot be all things to all people all the time...even trying will exhaust you. Prioritize, one thing at a time. Adults can understand, (true) friends will understand, children can learn and isn't this one of the many important things we need to role model to them. That said, I don't think you can really teach something to a person without telling them that you are teaching it to them, so some education/information on the topic in manageable age appropriate amounts is also needed.

Read the book. Know you are doing your best. Ask for help when you need it (from those around you and the professionals). And lighten up on yourself. Why are we always our own worst enemies.

You are such a lovely person and I'm glad to have met you in person this year. What an overwhelming experience this world of writer/mothers, mother/writers can be. You are such a big part of it and we appreciate that. Very inspirational, indeed. Until next time...hold your babies close and keep typing...because we'll keep reading.